I noticed you are giving away two trips to Aiming Low's Non-Con in October. And after the easiest conversation in the world with Daddy Pants wherein I was prepared to fight to the death to try and win, he folded immediately and told me I should enter. That if I won, he'd be cool with it. I was all, "Wha? That was so easy. Are you for real?" and he was all, "I love you. You should go" and then I was all, "um hey, they kids are asleep...." Anyway. This is my plea.
Second, I am your girl. And this is why.
It’s no secret that here on the Pants Ranch we are broke with a broke-ness. When I decided to stay home and raise these tiny humans, we willingly gave up over a third of our income. So being creative with money is our way of life, man. We don't have cable; we shop sales and thrift stores. Blah blah blah, boo-hoo to us, we're broke by choice. I won't cry about it (Unless you are into that sort of thing. I'm flexible). But as a result, traveling to the best conference of all time has to take a back seat to paying the bills.
I’d been planning to take the conference world by storm next summer/fall. Saving up my pennies and probably opening up some credit cards to make it happen. I also planned on losing weight and replacing every single piece of my wardrobe in preparation. Then I thought, will I need blog cards? So I started a list. It became ridiculous. I mean, it was monster long. I would need the whole year to complete it. Then I'd be ready. Or at least as ready as I could be with two kids doing their best to sabotage, I mean, love on me every second of the day.
But then this. This chance. When I read that you were sending two bloggers to Aiming Low's Non-Conference, I almost barfed and passed out.
Why? Well, because I’d be travelling all alone to be with people I don't know and I’m freaking terrified to fly. With my luck, I’d end up on a glorified hang-glide. You know, one of those tiny planes that always get lost at sea. I will need a Xanax just to get on it. And those things knock me out so it will be exciting to see if I'm awake enough to walk off the plane, let alone find my way to the hotel. But I'm determined. I'm stubborn. I would make it happen. Because now?
I want to go so bad I can smell it.
My list won't be completed by October. I will still be saddled with this baby weight (yeah, I know she's a year and half. I'll get to it). I'll be frantically borrowing clothes and shoes from friends so that I don't look like I'm headed to the gym the whole time (Anyone? Sz 10 wide?). I'll be the girl with a notebook and pen because my broke ass is waiting for a Black Friday sale to get a laptop. And I'll probably pack a bunch of peanut butter sandwiches and slam them so that I'm perfectly happy with my side salad when I meet new friends and go to dinner. But it's all good. I want to go anyway. I need to go anyway.
I'm new. I'm oh so green. But I'm also something else. I'm a writer and I want to be a better writer. When I started writing a little over a year ago, I had no idea what it would become for me. I thought that I'd just chronicle my family life so that we'd have a record. Stories to look back on and giggle at, cry about and remember this insano time when the kids are small. But it became so much more than that. When I sit down to write, I am clear. I am ready to unload. It feels good. I always want to write. I always need to write.
So now I am at a crossroads. I'm beginning some next level type shiz. I want to do great things. So it's time I put on a brave face and step out to realize my dreams. Because I'm really good at pretending that I'm brave.
I don't need no stinking list. But I do need to win.
What do you say? Won't you gorgeous and amazing people send me to Non-Con?
I love you (Too much?),